


heavenly

by echocreeks



Category: Star vs. The Forces Of Evil
Genre: Drinking game: take a shot every time I sacrifice a piece of my soul for this story, Expect everyone - Freeform, F/M, I'm gonna add to my tags and characters as they crop up but, LMAO HERE WE GO, This is going to be an adventure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-20 19:16:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11927469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echocreeks/pseuds/echocreeks
Summary: This is the story of how Marco Diaz becomes a man.Or, the Stardust AU that no one asked for.





	heavenly

At some point, somewhere, a queen is dying.

The streets amass with her subjects, who are attempting to catch her at her last. The people hold their breath as they wait for their queen to take her final one. Mewni, for all its disparity, joins together in any conceivable way tonight.

The ailing queen sits on her windowsill and watches the stars dance. She’s long been envious of them – in all her years, they’ve never changed. They’ve never re-positioned. They have never waned. They have long guided her through this life, and she hopes, when she drifts away, that they might welcome her with open arms.

The Moon and the stars… she’s felt more at home in her flights of fancy than she ever has here on Mewni.

“Your Majesty?”

Her attention is drawn from the sky as she turns. The royal court has gathered here, in the tower, to review her last will and edict before Moon lets herself wane. It’s a bit of a tricky matter: though she loves her husband dearly, he regretfully cannot take her place on the throne. They lack a daughter – neither by blood, nor sentiment. The queen has not appointed an heiress, and she knows her moments fit neatly in the blackened palm of her hand.

“Moon.” Again. Omnitraxus is growing impatient. For all of his omniscience and his bond to the fabric of space-time, he certainly does not appreciate it being drawn out in the linear sense. “While I hate to… _rush_ you, or anything, we’re still kind of in the dark on this… _wand thing_.”

Everyone is staring at it: the royal wand, still clenched tightly in Moon’s palm. While she holds it, and while its power is still at her fingertips, Mewni belongs to her. Only when the wand is passed will the kingdom be released from her burden. Moon toys with the weight of it; heavy by nature, light by magic, and saturated with responsibility.

“I suppose… I ought to pass it on. Officially.”

Her present company shares a sigh of relief. Finally! It’s about bloody time. Moon’s been withholding on all of them for months, growing ever more distant as she climbed higher and higher into her tower. You can’t blame her, though; it’s pretty slim pickings. Without a princess, Moon is restricted to nominating one of her nearest and dearest.

This is _certainly_ not her family. The thought of passing the wand to any of Felicity of Etheria’s brats is severely depressing. But, as Sir Glossaryck has consistently urged, they are all bound by tradition. A tradition that forced Moon onto the throne at fourteen, no less, but a tradition all the same. She winces at the implication of another unwitting queen succeeding her.

King River stands from his chair on the other side of the chamber. He’s never once left his wife’s side, bless his soul, and has never attempted to influence her, or to cloud her judgement in matters of succession. He takes her arm now, and she leans into him; though rivers are fluid and mercurial, hers has been a welcome and beloved constancy.

“I do believe we shouldn’t keep at this any longer, my dear.” His voice is low and gruff; he’s been crying. Moon can tell. She smiles sadly at her husband, and takes his hand.

“I believe so.”

“Can we just get on with it, already? _Some_ of us still have jobs to do, you know.” Hekapoo, who is lounging on the bed, draws a half-molded blade back and forth through the active flame above her head. Moon glares at her reproachfully.

“Excuse me if my _dying_ is holding you up, Hekapoo. Feel free to _leave_.”

“Can’t. Not ‘til I’m dismissed.” There’s something in the way she refuses to meet Moon’s eyes that suggests there’s more to this. The two of them have served together for decades; they were even friends, once. Hekapoo wants to be here when she loses a _friend_.

“Very well.” Moon addresses the collective as a whole: Omnitraxus Prime in his crystal ball, Hekapoo in her tempered grief, and Rhombulus in his corner. “I’m to appoint a queen in lieu of an heir by birth, who shall inherit my wand, and the responsibilities of wielding it. No members of the Butterfly family are present tonight – for very good reason. They are not fit to rule.”

This gets their attention. Moon crosses once more to the window, where the night sky twinkles invitingly. It’s calling her; the _end_ is calling her.

“Furthermore, I don’t believe there is any single member of my lineage who is owed the crown. Which is why…”

Moon closes her eyes; galaxies dance behind them, and she breathes in the crisp scent of stardust. Her wand at her lips, she whispers her final request.

The wand responds in earnest. Light emanates from its crystal, eclipsing the room, and leaving no shadow untouched. Cries pierce the atmosphere as Moon feels the staff grow scorching in her hand; she holds it until she can stand it no longer, and at this, she _hurls_ the wand out of the window.

Chaos. Unbridled and immediate. There’s shouting, there’s fire, because _what just happened?_ _What on Mewni do you think that was, Moon?_ Oh, for corn’s sake, _if some commoner picks it up_ …

But the wand never reaches the ground. Instead it sails up and up and up, glowing perilously, before it plummets into the cosmos.

Dizzy and blind, the court stumbles to the window. All eyes follow the wand as it pierces the stratosphere, leaving the air thick and smoldering in its wake.

“Moon! What on Mewni did you just –“

“It’s not over.”

As if on cue, there is a distant flash of light in the sky. It’s as if a star is going supernova before their eyes, and Moon can feel its magic stir in her very fingertips. She smiles serenely as the light grows to rival the sun, before falling in on itself once more.

“The queen is not, nor should it ever be, for me to appoint. The wand possesses far greater judgement than I do, or even any of you. Whomever retrieves it shall possess the kingdom.”

“Are you _crazy_?” Hekapoo seizes Moon roughly by the shoulder and turns the queen around. Everyone is looking at her in abject horror – for the future of Mewni, and for the admittedly rash conclusion of its queen. “What if no one ever finds it? Or even worse… what if the _lizards_ find it.”

Queen Moon pinches Hekapoo’s fingers between her own, and pries them from her person. “Have a little faith in the cosmos, would you? Or, if you’re so concerned for the fate of magic and your kingdom, go find the wand yourself.”

Rhombulus looks fit to shatter. “As if any of _us_ can rule, Moon, that’s not how it – “

“Who’s queen?”

“… You are.”

“No.” Moon turns back to the window, just in time to see a column of light cleave the sky. It falls among the stars, and disappears far over the horizon. The queen is dying; fate crawls from her fingertips and grasps her arms as if she has submerged them in ink. There is life in her still, however, to watch her kingdom be carried home.

“Until the wand is returned here, _no one_ is queen.”

* * *

 

 _Something’s happening_. She can _feel_ it. It’s as if the stars are bursting, and sparking against each other in the sky. A violent flash had roused her from an uneasy and uncomfortable sleep; no sooner than it had ended, her cheeks began to _scorch_ with the suggestion of mystical unrest. She pinches them until they hurt, and the color from them fades.

“What in the world..?”

Just as it does, a piece of the sky falls like a tear from the heavens. It almost causes her to spill her tea.

“Rasticore! Wake up! We need to move, _now_!”

* * *

 

The very foundations of the temple seem to shake. A pillar of dust sieves from the ceiling as every window in the musty hall lets in a blinding light.

From his throne, the temple’s sole occupant witnesses… what was that? A shooting star? No…

“Something more.” He can feel it to his very fingertips – at least, the ones he still possesses. Something _bigger_ is stirring in the world. Unrest. Chaos. After all these years, an _opportunity_. He stands from his throne and crosses to the window, just in time to trace the star’s path as it thunders into the atmosphere.

* * *

 

“Okay, man. Breathe in! Breathe _out_ … you got this. Just one more ‘ _hey_ ,’ and you’ll be ready for a ‘ _how are yah_?’” Try as he might, he can’t get comfy against the pillar. Tell me: at what incline does it suggest that one is just _totally hangin_ ’?

He’s overthinking this. It shouldn’t be this complicated – but it _is_. Jackie Lynn Thomas, the single most wonderful person on Earth, is somewhere at this party. And Marco Diaz intends to make his move tonight.

It’s been fifteen long years of existing alongside her, in her orbit. Jackie just doesn’t realize it; doesn’t realize _him_. He remembers the first moment he saw her, when neither one of them topped four feet tall, and Marco is reminded of that initial lightning strike every moment he sees her.

Marco readjusts himself against the pillar; takes a swig from his red cup. He hopes that the heavens are merciful, and that they send Jackie his way tonight. He has nowhere to be but by her side; Marco will wait.

He peers through the window, eyes scanning the surge of people enjoying the festivities. Tons of people that Marco knows, but not the one he _really_ wants to see. It’s been… _god_ , it’s been _hours_. He’s got pins and needles all up his leaning arm. And he’s not seen Jackie at all.

“Hey, Marco. Watcha doin’?”

Marco jolts so violently back to cognizance that he loses half his lemonade down his hoodie. Gah – his hand’s all sticky, and all. Marco whips his head towards whomever had addressed him, and promptly loses the _rest_ of his lemonade.

“Oh! Hey, Jackie. You look, uh…”

Rad, Marco. The word you’re looking for is _rad_. Her brows are raised, and her smile gently teasing as she paws at Marco’s lemonade-drenched sleeve with a napkin. “Take it easy, man.  It’s a party. You’re vibing pretty hard.”

Sorry, could you repeat that? Marco’s still stuck on the errant warmth that emanates from where Jackie touches him. His heart sits at the base of his throat, which has, by now, gone treacherously red. Marco wheezes as his gaze connects with Jackie’s. He can’t really feel his face, but Marco still does his best to inject some _coolness_ into his smile, averting his eyes toward the house.

“Y’know… Jackie? I’m actually really glad I ran into you tonight, ‘cause there was something I…”

“Shut _up_!”

Oh, ouch! Strike out! Marco winces as he feels his bravado come crumbling down. Stupid! He should’ve _known_! Jackie can see right through him, he thinks, and she wants _none of all this_. Marco sighs, massaging his temples; he’ll put his pride back together over about forty pizza nuggets. “I, uh… okay. I get it. I’m just gonna…”

“No, Marco!” There’s a hand on his arm. There is a _hand_ on his _arm_ Oh my _god_ , Jackie Lynn Thomas’ hand is on _his_ arm! She pulls Marco to her side, and he’s hapless. Jackie grabs his chin, and orients his head towards the sky.

“… _Shut up_.”

A falling star. An honest-to-goodness, clear-as-day, cleaving-through _-our_ -atmosphere _falling star_! Marco watches, entranced, as it shoots across the night sky.; He’s never seen one so bright, so _close_ , without a telescope. He can almost _touch_ it, he feels… as it disappears over the tree tops and steeples, and its last light refracts in Jackie’s eyes.

“Dude, that was _so cool_.”

Marco reassembles outside his reverie. He shakes his head clear, makes to pinch himself; but Jackie still has a hold on him. He can wake up in a few minutes, right? “D’you think it fell far from here?”

“Who knows, man?” Jackie shrugs, and takes her hand back. Marco almost immediately deflates, and his heart performs a feeble little flip. “I’d trade my board to see it up close. Make, like… a salt lamp out of it.”

Marco laughs; soft, and breathy, and _god, Diaz, could you be any more embarrassing right now?_ “Your board? That’s like a regular person’s soul.”

“Exactly.” He looks at her then; Jackie’s face is set stalwart and serious, and he swears he’s never seen her so resolute. “I’d give my _soul_ to see that star, man.”

“Then, uh…” He’s already reached the conclusion before it hits him. Marco toys with the zipper on his hoodie, loosening it, allowing himself _some_ breathing room. Jackie is looking at him expectantly; though her expression is indrawn, her eyes betray her. Marco supposes they’ll never lose their luster. “Then how about… if we can maybe, possibly… _go out_ sometime, I’ll go find you that star.”

Surprise crosses Jackie’s face like a storm cloud. The expression it leaves her with is indiscernible, as if Jackie herself can’t figure out what to feel. “Wait, what? Are you serious?”

You better believe it. Marco nods, and if he could feel _anything_ , he might feel his heart rupturing, overburdened by one bold move after another, as he takes Jackie by the hand. “I’ve never been more serious about _anything_.” Cool, he’s sweaty! “Ever.”

Jackie, to her credit, doesn’t let go. She doesn’t even look away. Marco can’t keep his eyes on hers, but he can feel her searching him for… _something_. “Dude, you don’t _need_ to…”

“No, Jackie. I – I really, _really_ do.” Marco’s eyes scan the sky; he traces the trail that the falling star had blazed, and occupies himself with strategy, with trajectory, as his thoughts continue to leave him in waves. “If I’m honest, I’ve kinda been wanting to… you know, for a _while_ now, and, like… you _deserve_ something special. You’re cool, and you’re smart, and you’re one of a kind.” He gives her hand a gentle squeeze, and clears his throat. “If I thought I was even _half_ of what you deserve, I’d bring you, like… a hundred stars. But if you could settle for just _one_ …”

“Okay.”

“ _Youwhatnow_?”

“I said, _okay_ , Marco.” Jackie’s laughing at him – actually, score that. Jackie’s _laughing_ , and Marco could listen to that on repeat for _days_. But, like, not in a creepy way. “That’s like, the craziest, most romantic thing anyone’s ever _done_ for me. And if you really wanna do it, I’m not gonna say no.”

“So…”

“So?”

“So – you’d seriously go on a date with me? If I…”

She laughs again. “I mean, yeah, man. Totally.”

Is he hallucinating? Is this really – oh, heck _yeah_ it is! Jackie Lynn Thomas just promised you a date, Marco! He’s practically glowing, and everything inside him’s jumped an inch to the left and _it’s crushin him. Oh god, the pressure!_ “That’s… oh my gosh, Jackie. You won’t regret it. I promise, you won’t.”

Jackie’s about to say something – but Marco’s already pulled away. He’s fumbling in his pocket for his bike lock key, and he’s making for the front yard. “Hey! Marco! Where’re you going?”

“I’m gonna go get you a star!”

Jackie stands in the backyard, clutching at her arm. “Guess I’ll see you Monday?”

Marco pauses, keys in hand. They jingle as he waves at her, and it’s the only part of him that isn’t soft. “Yeah. See you Monday. With your star.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, I threatened to do this some time ago. You should know by now that I don’t make empty threats. I anticipate that this is going to be one hell of a project. If you’re in it for the long haul, then I am, too.
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> For updates, questions, and prompts, you should yammer at me _[here](http://echocreeks.tumblr.com)_  or _[here](http://twitter.com/echocreeks)_. If you would like to beta this work, (i.e. you’ll be proofing for the rest of your natural life) then shoot me a message. Happy Hiatus!


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